


need a place to hide

by 4beit



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4beit/pseuds/4beit
Summary: each time thunder rattles your windows, you’re clenching your jaw and trying not to remember, or maybe it’s that you’re trying desperately to forget about houses that rattle and shake with seething anger you can’t escape. tonight is no exception. tonight is no exception, and panic is setting like cement in your chest, each breath is more of a struggle because thunder is as invisible and real as any ghost, but far less likely to be satiated by self-sacrifice.[or: theo doesn't like thunder storms]
Relationships: Shirley Crain & Theodora "Theo" Crain
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	need a place to hide

**theo @ shirl [21:42]:** are you awake? i’m coming over. you better be awake.

**shirl @ theo [21:43]:** it’s twenty to ten on a wednesday, of course i’m awake. what’s wrong?

**theo @ shirl [21:44]: storm.**

* * *

that one word is all you can manage as a second, more bone-shuddering echo of thunder claps across the sky, sending your pulse sky rocketing and memories – nightmares – set about slowly strangling you. you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, hands curled into the mattress with a white-knuckle grip as you lean forward, hair falling across like a curtain as you struggle for a breath. this is not exactly unfamiliar territory, storms are perhaps your least favourite of the weather phenomena, especially those with winds and endless, unrelenting thunder that seems to shake the annex through to its foundations.

each time thunder rattles your windows, you’re clenching your jaw and trying not to remember, or maybe it’s that you’re trying desperately to forget about houses that rattle and shake with seething anger you can’t escape. tonight is no exception. tonight is no exception and panic is setting like cement in your chest, each breath is more of a struggle because thunder is as invisible and real as any ghost, but far less likely to be satiated by self-sacrifice.

your phone lights up on the bedspread next to you and half a glance shows you

**shirl @ theo [21:50]:** you coming over?

has it been six minutes?

you exhale, reaching with a wavering hand to unlock your phone and text back

**theo @ shirl [21:52]:** come over here.

it takes a moment more for you to add,

**theo @ shirl [21:52]:** please?

because there’s fear curling into your veins and spreading faster than you can fight it. there’s panic solidifying in your lungs, and there’s a distant, far more objective part of your brain that knows you’re being stupid that it’s just fucking water falling from the sky and it’s electricity going up or falling down, or whatever it is that lightening and thunder are. but that objective corner of your mind is losing out to the memories of hill fucking house and the night its walls shook and you screamed,

and screamed,

and then not even a year ago, not even a year ago you were standing in shirley’s house when the walls rattled and shook and you had felt then, the same fear you’re damn near consumed by now. it’s dropped into your body like ice, leaving you stranded on the edge of your bed with your mind racing, drifting away to darker times, to worse places than the here and now and -

**incoming call from: shirl**

you answer the call but before you can say anything, you hear shirley’s _“you planning on letting me in or am i just going to get soaked?”_ hearing her voice, hearing your big sisters voice cuts through the panic-induced haze that has settled around you.

“sorry.” you say “sorry. two secs.” and you’re standing on legs that don’t feel like they belong to you. the room spins as you stand, and for half a second you’re reaching back with a hand, fingers brushing against the edge of the bed to stabilise yourself.

_“theo-”_ shirley is starting to say, but you’re hanging up on her – a move that doesn’t make a lot of sense considering that in literally thirty seconds you’re unlocking the back door to her but,

but you’re wrapped in a hoodie a size too big and shirley is standing there in rain, wrapped in the dressing gown jayden bought her for christmas just passed “theo,” she says again, taking one look at you, and knowing, understanding, piecing together why you’ve called.

you turn, giving shirley space to walk in as thunder crashes across the sky and you jump, fuck,

you jump despite yourself and in a gust of wind – it’s only wind – the door is ripped from your hand slamming into the frame. your fingers curl into fists and you’re trying, you’re really trying to keep it together but – there’s movement next to you and it’s shirley’s hand on the door. she’s close but not touching, turning the deadbolt and saying to you, speaking gently in the way you find yourself craving

“let’s go sit down.” she says “okay?”

you nod.

there’s still cement in your chest and that must be why you’re not breathing normally, but shirley is here.

shirley is here and she’s lingering close enough that you know she wants to take your hand, but won’t. she’s close enough that you can focus on her as she walks through to the couch and sinks into it. you follow her, a shadow sitting down on the couch near her, pulling a knee up to your chest and wrapping an arm yourself.

“what do you need?” she asks, looking over at you through the darkness.

you shake your head “i don’t know. i don’t, it’s the storm. it’s the wind and the thunder and i know that’s all it is but,” you exhale a shallow breath through your teeth, eyes fluttering shut “but it’s that house, and it’s your house and i can’t-” you shake your head “shirley, i can’t breathe. i can’t fucking escape. i can’t-”

“you can.” shirley says, her voice a buoy through the flood of your own emotions “theo,” she says, firm but just enough to catch you and keep you caught “theo,” she says again, “look at me.” you exhale, hands curling around your leg tighter and tighter still. your chin is pressing into your kneecap but you listen and you meet her gaze “you’re safe.”she says and it sounds like a promise “you’re safe and tonight, it’s just the storm okay? it’s nothing more than that.”

tonight.

she has to say that because the past,

well you’re both trying to reconcile what’s happened there.

there, here,

you’re drowning in the memories of hill house and nellie and all the rattling, the banging, the way a house came alive with such inescapable menace.

thunder cracks again and you jump, curling in on yourself as if somehow becoming smaller will make the storm less all-consumingly terrifying to you. the cushions of the couch shift and you feel shirley move closer to you. you hear the soft question as she asks it, as her hand hovers over your shoulder

“can i?” she asks.

you’re nodding, desperate for anything, desperate for -

shirley’s hand curls around your shoulder and the touch, her touch, is solid and unwavering. you unfurl a hand, covering hers with your own and closing your eyes as tears burn. you feel a ragged breath rip itself from your chest and shirley doesn’t shy away. she doesn’t shy away or even say anything, not for long, long seconds. her hand stays firm on your shoulder and the other comes to your back, moving in delicate, sweeping circles and fuck -

fuck how long has it been since you’ve let anyone get this close?

not that trish doesn’t count.

she does, oh god she does. but trish is different than shirley. shirley is family and shirley is your big sister and right here, right now, she’s telling you “just let it out.” she murmurs “i’ve got you.”

and that,

those last three words,

they’re what break you.

something inside you snaps. the concrete turns to sand, seeping between your ribs and you take a deep, gasping breath, seeking shelter in your sisters arms for the first time in,

in how long?

years? decades?

you’re not sure. you’re not sure and it doesn’t matter because your gloved hands are shoved deep into the pocket of your hoodie and shirley’s arms are wrapping tight around you. you’re leaning into her, must be practically on top of her, but somehow it doesn’t matter. you’re crying, that much is clear but it feels more like that night in the grass. that night in the grass when everything you’d been holding back spilled out of you.

you think tonight is like that.

you think that maybe this facade of being okay, of being over what happened in that fucking house, of coping with the fact that nellie is dead and nellie is gone –is shattering. you’re shattering.

shirley’s arms are wrapped around you, so careful to keep away from where the hoodie has risen up around your stomach, so careful to hold you only in the ways that she knows will make you feel safe.

it’s been so long but at the end of the day, she’s still your sister. she’s still your big sister. and holding you, grounding you to the moment even when all you think you can do is drown in a flood of emotions, is something she’s been doing since you were kids.

even when you wouldn’t let her near you,

she would ground you.

shirley would speak to you across the small bedroom you shared. she would speak to you like she’s speaking to you now.

“i’ve got you.” she says “i’m always going to have you.” she promises.

and you’re crying. the world fades away, the storm outside lost to your shattering. distantly you wonder if shirley is crying, or if she’s just holding on to you, wondering how she let you get this tangled and caught without reaching out.

seconds bleed into minutes and you don’t know how many minutes pass between the sobs wracking your chest and when you finally,

somehow,

start to calm.

it’s the tears that slow, followed by the settling of your breathing. there is something like peace warming you, not that the past won’t come back to haunt you, but the storms – both outside and in – are beginning to subside and shirley,

shirley is still here.

she’s stopped speaking, stopped moving, is just holding you. you feel her rhythmic breathing wash along the back of your neck. you feel her fingers laced together, arms wrapped around you.

“feel better?” she asks quietly, once your breathing has settled back to something more like normal.

you’re still half leaning into her, your head resting against her shoulder.

“i feel like i'm hungover.” you say after a moment “not sure if that’s better.” you exhale, hands twisting in your pocket.

shirley notices, of course she does – she’s always noticed, even when she didn’t want to and didn’t understand “do you want me to move?” she asks and that warm feeling in your chest deepens, grows as she asks. how long has it been, how many years where your distancing just,

wasn’t spoken about?

and now?

“i don’t know.” you say “maybe?”

shirley begins to shift, starting to move one arm from around your shoulders but you feel a tightening in your chest, as if the panic is threateing to reignite, threatening to set alight your fragile calm. you don’t have to say anything, don’t need to say anything. shirley must see it in your eyes, in the tension that draws itself across your shoulders.

“i can stay.” she says, bringing her hand back to running along the length of your spine “as long as you need.” she adds “as long as you want.”

distant thunder rumbles and you swallow hard “stay the night?” you ask, and it feels like a stupid thing to ask for. shirley literally lives like ten feet away, but the prospect of being home alone tonight, it scares you. scares you more than you’re comfortable processing right now, so you watch as shirley nods, as she smiles and runs a hand through your hair

“this okay?” she asks, and you know she’s remembering how she used to do it when you were kids, when it was the only thing that could calm you down.

“yeah.” you say, “i think so.”

shirley exhales and says quietly “thank you for texting me.”

“you’re my sister.” you tell her “the,” your breath hitches for a moment “the only one i’ve got left. i'm always going to need you.”

shirley sighs and you hear her pain, her griefm in that moment, feel it in the tips of her fingers along the nape of your neck “i love you.” she says fiercely “i will always love you.”

“i love you back.” you say, just before you yawn “you’re staying, right?" you feel incredibly young, and maybe the smallest bit embarrassed asking her that question, but shirley quells the uprising of shame with simple words.

“of course," she smiles “i’m staying.”


End file.
